It's Been A While
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Harry is on a bender, and Mello makes himself available. CROSSOVER SLASH Harry/Mello


**It's Been a While**

Harry leaned against the bar, forced to stand since it was too cheap of an establishment to have stools. That or the stools were all smashed in last weekend's brawl, in which he'd participated. He didn't remember one way or the other. He'd been too drunk by half, and it was messing with his mental continuity of events. Yesterday he'd awakened in a cold sweat, utterly convinced that he was late for Double Potions, never mind that he'd graduated almost ten years ago. Hell, he didn't even remember why he was drinking so much anymore. All he knew was that something happened with Ron last month and that he was upset about it. There was probably more to it than that, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He sighed and snapped his fingers at the bartender, holding up three fingers. The barkeep nodded and grabbed three shot glasses and a fresh bottle of whiskey. He dropped ice into the glasses, poured, and shoved them over the bar to Harry. Harry paid him and sank further into his solitary misery.

An hour and another round of shots later, a man approached him. Harry blearily tried to focus his eyes and only registered that he was, well, old; very old; possibly ancient.

And then this old man opened his mouth and presumably words came out. Harry squinted, trying to make sense of what he was saying. This didn't work so well since he squinted too hard and his eyes began to water and man was this room spinning?

He bent double and vomited.

The bartender didn't bat an eye, but nodded to the sullen young man that worked odd jobs around the place. He curled his lip but came over with a wet cloth a moment later to clean up the filth. Harry turned his attention to the ancient man, head much clearer, and realized that he was being propositioned.

He wanted to throw up again, but at the same time he found himself taking stock of this grandpa. He decided that the guy would probably die half-through sex if he went home with home, which was not something he needed on his conscience.

He made his apologies and escaped.

A face splashed with cold water and a deep drink from the faucet further introduced logic into his mental faculties, and he was horrified when he realized that it had been so long since he'd last had sex that he honestly considering having it off with some octogenarian.

"Ugh, what is _wrong _with me?"

"You aren't drunk enough yet. I find that's usually what's wrong with me these days."

He jerked his head to look at the person who'd emerged from one of the stalls, wiping his mouth. A second man came out a moment later, doing up his zipper. His eyebrows went up but he said nothing. He didn't think he could handle another fight just yet.

Instead, his long-neglected libido goaded him into giving the stranger a thorough once-over. He obviously had a thing for leather… and crosses… and…pointy shoes? Harry absently noted that he had pointy ears too, one of them peeking out of his straight blonde hair, which was a little long and girlishly cut. He radiated gay.

When he returned his eyes to the strangers face, he found a quirked and a smirk worthy of Draco Malfoy on his face.

"See something you like?"

Harry opened his mouth, thought about where that admittedly seductive mouth had just been, and shut it. He shook his head, and the smirk widened. He sauntered (there was no other word for the way he shimmied his hips and lifted his heels just so) over to Harry and pinned him against the sink with his hips.

"Are you sure? Because, you see, I'm looking for somewhere to spend the night. And I can think of a couple of ways that we could make that fun for both of us. Like fucking, for example."

Harry gurgled. No one had ever made such a blatantly sexual pass at him. Most people had a little more class than that, even the gay men he sometimes associated with. (Being straight was boring, and he liked variety. Is that such a crime?)

He flicked his head to the side, sending his hair over his shoulder and out of his face. It was a handsome face, if a little thin. There was a small scar beneath his right eye, and Harry wondered how he'd gotten it. Smirking lips approached his parted ones and waited a breath. Harry stared into honey-colored eyes, and surrendered.

When they pulled apart, the stranger sucked on his earlobe and then whispered, "My name's Mello, by the way."

It had been a while. Surely he could be allowed this little fling?

They ended up at Harry's place, and Harry spent several floundering minutes trying to find his keys before he realized that he must have forgotten them. Mello picked his lock in less than a minute, an impressive feat that not even George Weasley could pull off.

They didn't bother with conversation as they shed their clothes, Harry finally taking Mello's hand and dragging him into his bedroom, with several detours when Mello would press him against the closest surface and passionately re-introduce their mouths and groins.

Harry wasn't sure if he was sober enough to get it up at first, but then Mello pushed him flat on his back and straddled his hips. Harry could've endured that, but then he saw fit to perform some fantastic breed of lap dance that had him begging for a reprieve lest he embarrass himself.

Perhaps Mello had been some kind of Houri maiden before his current incarnation.

Mello did most of the work, maintaining his position on top despite Harry's half-hearted attempts to get him to lie on his back for him. He stopped complaining when it became clear that, unlike the last person that had attempted to ride him, Mello knew damn well how to move his hips.

He blacked out shortly after completion, just after making sure that Mello was satisfied as well. One last thought filtered through his mind before his brain went dark. How old was Mello?

His dreams were confused but warm, filled with soft blurred blondes and the way light gleams off of leather.

He woke up with a start at 3:30 in the morning, mouth dryer than a desert, suddenly remembering what he was fighting with Ron about.

Ron thought he was spending too much time drinking.

He fell back asleep with a groan, wrestling some of the stolen blankets from Mello and wrapping them around himself. He didn't know how he was going to explain his month-long bender to Ron when they inevitably made up after this.

~000~

End It's Been a While

I hope no one hates me for making Mello slutty, but you got to admit that it occurred to you. I mean, come on, just _look_ at those lace-up trousers.


End file.
